Fear
by Ebony10
Summary: Jane encounters a new kind of fear. Lisbon/Jane pairing. Not quite sure about the rating- no violence, don't think much swearing.
1. Waiting

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, TYLAH!!!! This was posted on Jello Forever as a Secret Santa gift for Tylah. :D This is a multi-chapter so I will post each one separately. Hope you all like it. Her prompt: fear. Chapter One: Waiting

* * *

Jane knew fear. Rather more intimately than he ever wanted, actually. How could he explain the fear felt when he had read that letter—such a pristine white against the dark door—from Red John? The foreboding dread that mingled with that fear…

Or the fear that filtered into him upon becoming more lucid, realizing his surroundings, that he was within an institution. Wondering if he would ever feel once more like a man rather than a broken thing. Rather than someone who had fallen off the wall. And no one had bothered to put him back together again.

The fear that dawned when he re-entered the world, wondering what the hell he was going to do now. Now that his family was gone, violently ripped from him. He couldn't go back to work as a psychic. He didn't have the patience or the desire to deal with that type of person again, to manipulate them, to pretend that he cared and believed in what he was doing. The world that had given him glitter and glitz, but could never give him what he truly wanted, could never give him happiness.

Could never breath life back into his family.

Or the more recent fear…feeling helpless at the wheel of the car. A stranger—a broken girl—in the passenger seat listening as shots rang out over speakerphone. His frantic call of his colleague. Friend. The oddness that accompanied the fear late at night, when he couldn't sleep, but instead relived that moment and truly thought about how dangerous the line of work was. How many times his colleagues, _friends_, put themselves at risk.

He wondered if he would spend the rest of his life watching those around him die as some sort of penance. Bosco and his team…

He shuddered to think that Lisbon would be next.

And the thing was: it could happen any time. And the blame may not lay with Red John, even.

Today proved it.

Today, he felt that fear, ten times strong. Mixed with anxiety and the need to just _do_ something.

And yet all he could do was wait, sitting tensely in the stiff hospital chair under the sickly lights of the waiting room. Waiting…

Stomach clenched. Waiting…

Hands grasped tightly together. Waiting…

Fear outlining every muscle of his body.

Waiting…

To hear that she, too, hadn't been stolen away from him.


	2. Blacker

Chapter Two: Blacker

* * *

24 Hours Ago

Jane whistled as he waltzed into the offices of the California Bureau of Investigation, a tray of various drinks in hand. Caramel machiatto for Rigsby, Soy chai latte for Van Pelt, and two black coffees: Cho and Lisbon. Nothing for him. He could make a better tea in the CBI kitchen.

He pulled out one of the black coffees and set the tray on Van Pelt's desk, receiving the reward of her thankful smile as he breezed by her toward his end goal of Lisbon's office.

Lisbon looked up on hearing a sharp rap on her door. A steaming cup of coffee floated mid-air. Wait, scratch that. It was held in mid-air by a hand. Following the hand to the wrist, she saw the forearm disappear outside her office and sighed.

"Get in here, Jane."

His grinning face appeared beside the hand-held coffee before his body followed. "Good morning, Lisbon."

She groaned at his chipper greeting, opening her mouth to respond. He held a hand up to forestall her. "Uh-uh-uh, Lisbon. Before you speak to me, I think you should have a nice long gulp of this refreshingly caffeine infused liquid otherwise known as coffee."

She rolled her eyes as she accepted the cup from him. Not that she was listening to him, but sometimes it _was_ easier. And she really wanted that coffee.

Jane studied her face as she sipped the drink. She looked tired. Well, more than usual. The bags under her eyes a little darker than normal. Her skin a little paler. The spark in her eyes a little dimmer. He could tell that she was purposely ignoring his gaze. Maybe she was just used to it by now.

His eyes narrowed. Was she a little thinner?

"So, Jane, figure out what happened at my sixth birthday party?"

He shook himself and met her eyes. She smirked. "You got in a full minute of studying me. What kinds of tales did you discern? Do I like my potstickers pan-fried or boiled? Hmm?"

He laughed, forgetting his worries. She was such a saucy thing. "Silly question, Lisbon. Of course you like them pan-fried."

She scoffed and took another sip of her coffee. "Did you need something, Jane? Or is this just so you can check off your daily Irritate Lisbon box?"

He pouted and clasped both hands to his chest. "Lisbon. You wound me."

She raised her brows at him.

He grinned back. "It's not a _daily_ box."

Almost against her will, she laughed. "Why am I not surprised? Okay, Jane. Thanks for the coffee, but I really have to get to work."

She all but shooed him from her office and, disgruntled, he head for his couch.

And it was there that he was sprawled out when he first heard the ruckus. Initially, he paid it no heed. After all, it was a cop shop. Many criminals being hauled in and out. Arrests. Interrogations. Upset family members. The like. But the noise got louder.

"You don't care! None of you do!"

Jane turned his head. The voice seemed to echo in the same room as him. A man, late thirties, stood in the doorway. His hair was disheveled and his clothes wrinkled. His expression was wild, eyes darting. Cho slowly put his hand to his belt. He knew that kind of look. Rigsby almost imperceptibly shifted to shield Van Pelt, who sat at her desk. Jane watched in interest. Who was this guy? There was a shuffle in the hallway as some agents from another team approached, seeming to recognize the man and resigned to taking control of the situation. Jane sighed and settled back deeper into the couch, pushing the situation into the back of his consciousness. Someone would take care of him. Poor guy. Looked like this was not his first occurrence of an outburst at the CBI. But it _was _his first foray to the area of the SCU.

"I'll show you what it feels like! I'll show _all _of you!" The man's voice escalated, growing hysterical. Suddenly there was a silence. Then Cho's voice grabbed Jane's attention.

"Sir, put the gun down."

Jane's head turned once more. The man was now frantically waving a gun around, torn between the many agents. Oh boy. Looked like they had a ticking bomb on their hands. Figuratively, of course. Jane sighed. Well, time to work the magic and talk the guy down from the brink. He took a deep breath and prepared to sit up, but he was interrupted by a new voice.

"Hey, guys, I need the Jakowski file for the—" Lisbon strode out of her office, eyes glued to the paper in her hand. The gun swung wildly and locked on her, firing a piercing shot before she even had time to look up and assess the situation. The bullet went through both her left shoulder and the glass of her office window, causing it to crack as the force pushed her back against it.

For an instant, time froze for Jane as he watched her body collide with the glass behind her. In that small space of time, Cho had the man unarmed and cuffed while Van Pelt was already on the phone with emergency services. The agents from the other team took the man—the one who had upended Jane's life so single-handedly—from Cho. The stoic agent immediately went forward to his boss, who was wheezing as she slid down the wall. Jane's eyes were glued to the trail of red she left in her wake.

He couldn't seem to move.

_That's funny_, he thought. _I wonder if there was another bullet that hit me. That must be why I feel paralyzed. Pain…_

Surveying his condition mentally, he found that the pain wasn't physical. That the paralysis was nothing but the mind-numbing fear he felt at seeing that red on the wall. So like his past and yet so different. Bright. Shining. Dark and angry. It shouldn't be there.

It belonged inside Lisbon. It was what kept her alive. And thus what kept him sane.

Dimly, Jane registered that Cho was pressing on Lisbon's wound. Her small, breathy chuckle drifted across the bullpen to him and he strained to hear the words that followed.

"Geez, guys. There had to be easier ways to get out of finishing the Jakowski file…"

Her voice, growing ever weaker, trailed off and as Lisbon faded out of consciousness, Jane had the strange feeling that his own world was growing blacker.

And Lisbon wasn't there to brighten it.


	3. Complications

Just to warn you, this fic took a turn I didn't expect. O_oChapter Three: Complications

* * *

Present Time

Still no word. Nothing. The nurses wondered how long a person could sit in a hospital chair, waiting. Sure, she'd seen it before, but rarely was it a group of four who sat in silence.

Van Pelt was gripping Rigsby's hand tightly, as if afraid it—_he_—would disappear without her to hold it there. He didn't even feel the pressure from her. He felt the warmth though. He always felt her warmth. And, even though he was worried beyond belief about the small woman who was his boss, he found comfort in the warmth that poured in from the woman he loved.

Cho sat, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring forward immovably. He didn't study other people in the room. He didn't read a book, flip through a magazine. He didn't talk to his companions. He simply stared at the wall across like the intensity of his gaze would somehow transfer to Lisbon, somehow give her strength to make it through this. Because she had to.

Jane…

It had scared the team how out of it he had been at first. Seemingly transfixed by the sight of Lisbon's blood painted on the wall. Van Pelt had led him like an obedient child down the hall and practically bundled him into a CBI van. He hadn't stirred as she buckled him in like a toddler. Rigsby had herded Jane into the waiting room and Jane had come out of his haze—at least a bit.

He had dropped into a chair, leant his elbows on his knees and, clasping his hands together, propped his chin up. No one mentioned it when he started to shake, but Rigsby put a hand on his shoulder.

And strangely enough, it actually helped.

Because they were a family, this little group of adults. Much as Jane had thought that the only family he had was six feet into the earth, he was being proven wrong. His family was here. In the seats beside him. On the operating table.

And fear caused him to squeeze his eyes shut and put his face in his hands, pressing them against his eyelids and cheeks. Hoping the pressure would wake him from this nightmare.

He wondered if it were still called a nightmare if one wasn't sleeping.

Nothing had been this bad before. Then again, none of them had ever suffered a bullet wound while Jane had been with the team. The Hardy thing was nothing compared to this. But it did make him fiercely happy that he had shot the crazy cop. Because this could have happened then. Jane would stop at nothing to protect this family. To do what he hadn't done for the last.

That was why he couldn't let Red John go—vengeance was his way of protecting that which he had already lost. Protecting their memory.

That was why he couldn't let Lisbon go.

He was almost angry. He hadn't asked for this. If there were ever something he wouldn't have wanted, it was to care this deeply about someone else. He had done it before. And it had near killed him. Even now, some days he wished it had.

And then other days, she was there. Smirking at him. Scowling at him. Laughing at, with, him.

He felt Cho straighten next to him and looked up, seeing a doctor approach him.

"Are you here for Teresa Lisbon?"

Jane opened his mouth to answer, but found he couldn't. He cleared his throat and tried again, but it seemed to tighten around the words, keeping them from escaping. Van Pelt took a gentle hold on his arm and answered for the team.

"Yes. How is she?"

The doctor had kind eyes. Jane wondered if he had a family somewhere. Kids. A wife. Siblings. Or maybe a family like Jane's. People he had picked up along the way. Those kind eyes looked at them with a serious expression.

"She's stable. For now." The doctor seemed to be searching for the right words. Jane felt a small amount of relief at his words. She was stable. "I gather you are all her team. Are her relatives on their way?"

Jane didn't feel guilt. They hadn't even thought to call her brothers. There had been no time. Cho answered.

"They are." He had no compunction about lying. "But it will take a long time. They don't live in the state."

The doctor nodded and Jane found his voice. "You said 'for now'?"

The team tensed and the doctor was a bit disconcerted to find four pairs of eyes trained solely on him.

"There are some…complications."

'Are.' Not 'were.' _Are_.

And suddenly everything was hyper clear. The laugh lines on the edges of the doctor's blue eyes. The tart smell of disinfectant. The slight pressure of Van Pelt's hand on his arm. The heavy presence of Rigsby over his right shoulder.

The squeezing feeling in his chest. Like a band drawing tighter and tighter around him. He wondered if he wanted to know the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"What kind of complications?"


	4. Fight

AN at the end. Chapter Four: Fight

* * *

He had been worried about her, yes. But he never expected…

Cancer.

It was unthinkable. Logically, he knew that it could happen to almost anyone, but thinking about the fiery woman who gave as good as she got…well, he couldn't help but think that it was unnatural for something to bring her down from the inside out. Quite literally.

He supposed that most people felt this way. And there was nothing that felt natural, felt right, about cancer.

Her body had been weakened by it. That's why she had looked thinner, weaker, more tired. He hadn't really thought it could be anything this physically serious. An emotional rough patch. Work-related stress. But cancer?

Hadn't even crossed his mind.

He was supposed to be the mentalist. Shouldn't he have caught the symptoms? Noticed the signs?

The team had gone home, assured for the moment that their boss would pull through. She had escaped with a serious gunshot wound, but had been stabilized and it was healing.

Now, it was time to wait until she woke up. Then they could figure out what to do.

It didn't even cross his mind that it may be strange to include himself in that process. He kept remembering that moment in the sun, by his car and a fruit stand. The smell of trees and apples and strawberries. The sudden disappointment at her admission. The feel of her weight as his hands caught her. The slightly bewildered look at his intense promise. It seemed so long ago…

He had charmed his way into the good graces of Lisbon's attending nurses. Due to that, he was able to be here, now, with her. Holding her hand, feeling its warmth.

Wondering what it would feel like to lose someone you cared about slowly, painfully…He hadn't been through that. With his family, it had been sudden. A case of having them wrenched from him. One moment he had been a father, a husband, and the next he had been nothing more than a man who was barely stumbling through the motions. He hadn't made it through that unscathed—he thought of his unstable mind (he could admit that), his inability to sleep, his nightmares, worse_: his dreams _(where the tinkling laughter of his child actually left him in a cold sweat). Some days, he still just felt so _raw_. But others, he felt a little less broken, a little more hopeful, a little less tragic. And he knew it wasn't coincidence that those days were never Lisbon-less.

And he didn't want to be Lisbon-less.

It was one thing for him to lose her because of his plans for revenge. Because she didn't agree with him. Because he would be made to face the consequences of his actions. Because he would quite possibly wind up behind bars while she carried on. _That _was the way it should be if he lost her. It was quite another thing for her to be gone. Irrevocably beyond his reach.

Cancer kills.

He wondered if he could make it through her death only to be left with some intangible thing, a _disease_, to hate. One couldn't exact revenge from a disease.

His thumb moved to and fro across the back of her hand. He relished the smoothness of her skin as he stared at her face, openly noticing the hollows of her cheeks now that he allowed himself to. The way her clavicles stuck out further than usual, bones prominently outlined.

She was already so small. He had never thought of her as physically fragile before, but, seeing her against the white sheets with her skin so pale, the word whispered across his consciousness without his assent.

He couldn't disagree.

She stirred a bit and he held his breath. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to wake. What could he say?

Did she suspect? Did she know? Could he handle a conversation like that right now?

It took her a moment or two to open her eyes and when she did she stared at the ceiling. Finally, she slowly moved her head to look to him, as if she were in a sleepy haze. And maybe she was.

She studied his face in silence. The green orbs were piercing and he felt compelled to speak, but no words would come. Suddenly, she gave a sad sort of smirk.

"That bad, huh?"

His brow furrowed in confusion and she continued.

"If it's enough to push you, Patrick Jane, into silence, then it must be pretty bad." The teasing light drained out of her expression. She took a deep breath. "There's something really wrong with me, isn't there?"

So she _did_ have an inkling. Shifting to lean forward, he moved so he could hold her hand between both of his. He stared down at their hands—his large, hers small. More delicate. "You've been tired and weak lately. Losing weight. Yes, Lisbon. There is something wrong."

"You've been diagnosed with cancer," he said softly, watching her face. He wanted to be anywhere but here right now. He didn't want to feel for someone else. Not like this. Not like he had for his family. He didn't want to deal with this kind of pain. He hadn't planned on caring. Even more, though, he couldn't be anywhere else but here. With her. For her. "But we're going to fight it."

She turned her head back to the ceiling, silent. He knew she had heard him. That she knew what he meant when he said 'we.' That she was digesting this. Trying to decide if she wanted him with her or not. The solitary, strong Lisbon had never been in this type of situation before. She didn't know what kind of help she may need (she shuddered to imagine herself asking for help—for her _own_ sake; she had done it plenty of times for others). She wondered what to say to him and he wasn't sure if he should be speaking, asking her how she felt about it, what her plans were, things like that.

In the end, they sat there together, hands clinging until the lights on the floor went out from the automatic nightly timer. Neither bothered to call for a nurse to get them turned back on. And, even in the darkness, he did not leave. He held her in the only way open to them at this point. His fingers twined with hers. It was hours before there was any kind of interaction between them.

But when her fingers gave his a tentative squeeze, he knew that something had shifted between them. Perhaps not fully of her own accord, but it had nonetheless.

She needed him.

And he would be there. Just like he said.

No matter what.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading everyone! I don't know much, really, about the details of cancer. Sorry to keep it vague, but I really want the focus to be on the feelings and slight changes between them rather than the technicalities. If you don't like that, I completely understand if you stop reading.


	5. Lost Locks

Kind of a depressing chapter. Sorry, guys! I'm working on the next _Handful_ series, which should hopefully be happier…but really, have I ever not believed in happy endings?

…

Okay. Maybe you shouldn't answer that. And maybe this ruins it, but I will alleviate your minds and tell you that I'm feeling in the mood to a keep a happy ending.

Chapter Five: Lost Locks

* * *

It had only been months. And life was nothing like it had been.

Lisbon was off and had been. On indefinite sick leave. And, although Jane helped with the cases while Cho acted as interim leader, he was more often than not with Lisbon. At the hospital. At home. Anywhere she needed to be. Anywhere she was.

Like now.

He leaned against the doorframe of her bedroom, watching her sleeping figure huddled under the blankets. She was so frail. Tired. It worried him how little she weighed. How dull her eyes were becoming. How hollowed her face had become.

But he was proud of her for fighting. For never giving up, never giving in.

Yesterday, as he was helping her get ready for yet another trip to the doctor, a large swath of hair had come out with the brush as he gently pulled it through her dark tresses. Neither had spoken for a long moment, both looking at the lock of hair. She had reached a trembling hand up to her head, fingering her bangs before making a comment on how she should cut it short. Easier to deal with hair loss that way, she supposed.

She had been so prosaic, but he knew it bothered her. She wasn't vain. She didn't even think herself to be exceptionally pretty—nothing beyond ordinary (though he would disagree). But even she felt the sting of hair loss. As a woman who gave up a lot of femininity to become successful in her field, her hair was one thing that had remained. Even if she hardly ever did anything with it besides let it do its own thing or put it in a ponytail, it was there. There was always the possibility.

Now it would be gone. And Jane knew she wondered what else she was losing.

Hell, he did too some days.

He couldn't believe how much time he spent at her place. Or at the doctor's office with her. Simply with her in general. Most nights he just stayed over. On the couch. He was becoming as familiar with it as he was with the one at work.

He knew the medical staff that worked with Lisbon suspected that they were in some sordid affair. They weren't married, yet Jane still wore a wedding ring. Lisbon didn't. And he obviously cared for her almost as a lover would. A little stilted sometimes, a little awkward. But tender. Reliable. Consistent. Jane wondered if Lisbon had noticed the speaking looks of her nurses. The high probability of lunchroom gossip at the hospital that revolved around the two of them.

Now, watching over her, he saw her shift. Suddenly, he couldn't fight the urge to join her. To feel her wrapped in his arms. The incident yesterday had brought it all home.

There was still so much uncertainty.

And while he didn't mind uncertainty, he _hated_ that it pertained to her very life.

He shrugged out of his vest and his dress shirt followed soon after. Soon he was only in slacks and a white undershirt. Standing barefoot and looking down on her in bed, he let himself wonder about what ifs.

If this had been a different time, a different life, maybe…

Maybe this situation would be different. Maybe they would be lovers. Married, even. Funny—the thought didn't feel as much like betrayal to his wife as he thought it would. As it had even six months ago.

As he carefully climbed in beside Lisbon, he shrugged that thought off. More important things to dwell on: like the steady rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, the way she seemed to unconsciously burrow back into him.

He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in the spiced scent of cinnamon. He was glad he had decided to give into this whim before she cut her hair. It tickled his nose and wasn't the most comfortable thing ever, but it was so _her_ that it made his throat tighten.

He had memories of another bed, another woman. And those were all that was left of that. Memories. He didn't think he could go through it again. He didn't think that, if the worst happened, he could come back to a bed that housed only memories.

Slowly, lest she wake, he turned Lisbon in his arms so she was sprawled out on his chest. Pulling her even closer, he shifted so he could have the benefit of being her sleeping surface (not even wanting to share her with the very bed they were on). She was so slight. She weighed little more than his daughter had. Lisbon. A grown woman. Weighing what a five year old did. Far too thin.

He sighed and put a hand high on her back, feeling her bones close to the surface but also feeling the relieving heartbeat pound a rhythm.

He wondered how he could have stopped himself from loving the woman in his arms.

Because it just seemed so cruel to break through his isolation—to disturb his loneliness and self-torture—with the false promise of love and happiness when it seemed that the only things that lay ahead were more pain and loss.

Much as he couldn't, _didn't want_ to go through that again, he found that he couldn't help himself.

He needed to be beside her. For more than just his promise. For himself.

If this was the end, then it wouldn't be hers alone.


	6. Choices

One more chapter after this (an epilogue of sorts). Thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews. I haven't had time to reply to all of them (ugh, school is already crazy and it's only been one week), but I really appreciate all of the kind comments and support. Thanks!!Chapter Six: Choices

* * *

Jane held her thin hair (not yet shorn off) as she threw up into the toilet, her body heaving with the effort. When she had finished heaving, she sagged against the porcelain. Energy spent. Gently, he pulled her back so she was resting against his chest instead.

"God. This sucks."

He let out a small chuckle, though it was really humorless. She always got straight to the point. He swallowed hard before answering. "Yes. It does."

She struggled to stand and he helped her rinse out her mouth and brush her teeth. She took a shaky step toward the door, but he would have none of it. Sweeping her into his arms he carried her out of the bathroom and started to head to her bedroom. She laid a hand against his chest.

"Take me to the couch. Please. I want to at least pretend I can be a normal person for a little while. Watch some TV. Read a book. Something." He paused, debating. She really should rest. Chemo made her quite sick for a while and sleep seemed to be the only remedy. She sensed his hesitance. "Please?"

He couldn't hold out against her pleading. Really, she deserved everything she wanted. And this was one of the easiest desires he could grant. If only he could do more. He nodded without speaking and changed his course of direction.

Sitting on the couch, he kept her clasped in his arms. She started shifting, readying herself to slide from his lap to the couch, but he tightened his hold. "Let me hold you."

Their relationship had changed over the months they had been fighting the cancer. No long talks. No nights of abandonment and impulse. Just simple tenderness. Watching one another change. They may not fully recognize the change, but they knew this new situation—new relationship—was unchangeable. No matter what happened, it was Jane and Lisbon. Together. Them against the world. Oh, they still disagreed on things. Red John. Tea versus coffee. The appeal of black and white movies. But there was an intimate knowledge of one another.

She knew that when he awoke, he liked a cuddle for at least ten minutes. He knew that she slept so soundly that he could move her almost as he wished, like a doll. That first night he had entered her bed, he hadn't bothered to leave it. And she hadn't bothered to kick him out.

But she seemed to be getting worse. And it was painful for both of them.

They settled on the couch and Jane couldn't help but wonder how this would feel with the pre-cancer Lisbon. Her full, soft body against his. As it was, he still enjoyed her presence. He took comfort in the rise and fall of her chest. He just hated the frailty of her body because it reminded him of the frailness of her health. He hated the helplessness that made him feel.

His phone, lying on the coffee table in front of them, began vibrating. She leaned forward, obviously feeling a little better, and snagged it. Flipping it open, she read that there had been seven text messages and three missed calls. Two voicemails. All seemed to be from Cho.

"Jane! I think Cho needs you. Here. Call him," she urged. He shook his head.

"Cho is fine, my dear."

"But look at all the calls and messages. It must be important," Lisbon insisted. "I don't mind. Really."

"I already know what they're about. And they can wait," he hedged. She peered at him suspiciously. Practically living with him, she had gotten a bit better at reading him. And this kind of behavior had always made her nervous.

"What are they about then?" She challenged him and he relished the gleam in her eye that proved she was still the feisty woman she had always been.

"Red John."

There was stunned silence after that. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Did you…did you just say Red John?"

He nodded, watching her closely. When she didn't continue—clearly at a loss for words and confused—he spoke once more. "They had a pretty good lead yesterday. They've been following up on it. These are just to keep me updated."

"Jane!" She pushed ineffectively at his chest. "You should be there. I'll be fine here by myself. Go ahead. Call Cho and see where they are so you can meet up."

He shook his head again. "I'm where I need to be."

She sighed, her eyes soft. "Jane, I know you feel like you have to take care of me. We haven't talked about it, but that promise you made…well, it's fine. You've more than kept it. But when something this important to you comes up, it's perfectly all right to leave me. I'm an adult. And it won't mean that you broke your promise."

"This isn't about a promise to you, Lisbon. Teresa. It's about me and where I want to be."

Tiredly, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. "Jane, catching Red John is the most important thing in your life. I don't want to be the one to cause you to miss something. To ruin the chances of you guys catching him. I don't want it to be because of me and my stupid sickness that he gets away."

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to hers, rubbing his hands up and down her back. "Red John is not the most important thing in my life. Not anymore."

"But—"

He cut her off. "We haven't talked about it, Teresa, because I thought it went without saying by now, but you're stuck with me. For good. Just thought you should know."

She turned her face into his neck and he could feel her slow smile against his skin. The words paralleled another moment between them. Another time. It seemed like so long ago. It hadn't fully sunk in yet, but Patrick Jane had essentially just said (and showed) that he had chosen her over his quest for Red John. Her breath puffed against his throat as she spoke. "Oh really? I have no choice in this matter?"

"Not really. I can let you think you do if you like." He thought it was a generous offer.

She laughed and he was so happy to hear it that he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. "Only you, Jane. Only you."

"Maybe you should call me Patrick."

She leaned back and surveyed him. "I don't know…"

She seemed to be talking about more than calling him by his given name. His expression became serious again. "That's okay. _I_ do."

"Jane, what if I…I mean, I'm very sick and I might—"

He interrupted her. He didn't think he could bear to hear that aloud. He couldn't even bear to think it and he didn't want her to. He put his forehead to hers and spoke fiercely. "No. No what ifs. You are going to get better. And then you'll rant at me when I'm irritating. You'll try to control my crazy shenanigans. And you'll learn how to deal with me around here twenty-four-seven."

Her eyes closed and he would have kissed her then if she hadn't spoken. "You're wrong."

He froze. She didn't want this? Didn't want him? Or had the doctors told her something she hadn't shared with him yet? Had it gotten even worse?

"I won't _try_ to control your shenanigans. I _will_ control your shenanigans."

His tensed muscles relaxed. Oh, thank God. Well, figuratively….

"So you're okay with this. This thing between us?"

She kissed his forehead. "I thought I didn't have a choice."

"I only want you to be happy, Lisbon—dammit, _Teresa_—so just say the word and I'll—"

This time she interrupted him by placing her fingers against his lips. "At the risk of sounding extremely corny…you make me happy, Patrick."

She put her head back on his shoulder and got comfortable, settling in for either a movie or a nap. She gave a sleepy sigh. "Damn, it is going to be hard to get used to that."

He laughed. "I can relate. But Teresa is a beautiful name."

And if they were ever married (he couldn't believe he was even contemplating that…), then it would be weird to call her Lisbon when it wasn't even her name any more.

"Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

And he did, relishing the feeling of her in his arms. Basking in the knowledge that they both had their eyes wide open. They knew what they were getting in to. It may not be the best idea. It may only lead to a world of pain. But they were heading there together.

When she was better (and she _would_ get better), they would sort out the next step. For now, they would focus on the fight for her health. Jane smiled, settling deeper into the couch. Happiness welled inside of him, filling him with energy. He was sure she'd get better.

And he was hardly ever wrong. He wasn't about to start now.


	7. Epilogue: Second Chances

Finished with the first gift/fic. Thanks again for all of the reviews (especially you, Mabeline36, for the lovely words you've shared throughout the fic)!Epilogue Chapter Seven: Second Chances

* * *

Five and a half Years Later

"Surprise!"

Teresa looked around at the faces of her friends. It really _had_ been a surprise.

Van Pelt, five months pregnant and glowing, beamed at her. By her side, Rigbsy grinned at his boss, arm firmly around his wife. "Congratulations! Finally hit the five year mark."

"Thanks, guys." The senior agent smiled, feeling a little emotional.

Cho gave a brief nod in acknowledgment of her appreciation. "Trust us, boss: it's our pleasure."

After his sojourn as lead agent, Cho had decided he was better suited to be a right-hand man. That is, if it was her right-hand man.

Van Pelt and Rigsby had gotten married. Officially, Van Pelt was with the Technology Investigation department on permanent loan to the Serious Crimes Unit—a situation that worked out well for them all without breaking any regulations. Technically, she wasn't on the team, but everyone knew it was simply a technicality and the redhead was as much part of the team as the blond-haired, impulsive consultant—who had become a little more carefree, though still off-the-wall, after the capture and incarceration of the serial killer known as Red John.

A consultant who happened to worship the ground on which the lead agent walked. Arms slid around her from behind.

"Not at work, Patrick."

"It's a special occasion."

Stepping away from him, Teresa gave him a scowl. "Still at work."

"Why do _they_ get to have PDAs and we don't?" Patrick whined, gesturing to the younger agents who blushed guiltily. Lisbon put her hands on her hips.

" Because neither of them are the senior agent here."

She looked so serious that Patrick couldn't resist. He snagged her left hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the simple gold band that lay on her ring finger. The band that signified their tie. The one that had a partner on his own hand. "I think that on the celebration of five years of remission, your husband is allowed to show some affection."

"Seems fair," Cho chimed in, logical as always.

"Fine," Teresa said reluctantly. Patrick grinned and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. As he did almost everyday, he felt that overwhelming relief that he had been granted a second chance. That _she_ had been granted a second chance. And today, five years of remission marked the moment when a specific fear could slowly start draining out of him. He may lose her to death, but when it came to cancer she was practically cured.

He'd always be afraid for her well-being. Be afraid that something would happen to crush the happy life he had made with her.

But he had found that the alternative to giving into that fear and letting it run his life was so much more satisfying.

And that alternative was in his arms at that very moment, reminding him just how much life was worth.


End file.
